


Not Another 20 Questions--Birthday

by jdrush



Series: 20 Questions [7]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Dialogue-Only, Humour, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 18:49:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11675010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jdrush/pseuds/jdrush
Summary: They say it’s your birthday.  I hope you have a good time.  The latest story in the 20 Questions universe.





	Not Another 20 Questions--Birthday

TITLE: Not Another 20 Questions--Birthday  
AUTHOR: J.D. Rush  
FANDOM: SHERLOCK  
PAIRING: Sherlock/John  
RATING: PG, for boy kisses and slashy suggestions  
SUMMARY: They say it’s your birthday. I hope you have a good time. The latest story in the 20 Questions universe.  
DISCLAIMERS: These lovely boys belong to Sir A.C. Doyle and BBC1  
AUTHOR’S NOTE: According to Wikipedia (and if you can’t trust them, who can you trust?), Watson’s birthday is July 7th. Since this date fits in perfectly with my story, I’m running with it. 

 

**January 6, 2011  
221b Baker Street **

 

“John, what’s this?”

“You can’t surmise anything from looking at it?”

“Don’t be daft. It’s a card of some kind, and from the writing on the envelope, I know it’s from you.”

“Right on both counts.”

“What is it doing on the kitchen table?”

“Waiting for a cab? Open it and find out.”

*sound of ripping paper* “It’s. . .it’s a birthday card.”

“Excellent! Your deduction skills are as sharp as ever.”

“Why did you get me a birthday card?“

“I don’t know. Maybe because it’s your birthday today?“

“How did you know?”

“You’re not the only one who can figure things out. I dug around, did some sleuthing, investigated a few leads. . .”

“You asked Mycroft.”

“Of course I asked Mycroft!”

“Why?”

“Because he seemed the most obvious person to know the answer.”

“You could have just asked me.”

“I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Why?”

“Well, we’ve lived together for a year now and it’s what people--normal people--do. Celebrate birthdays and stuff.”

“I don’t.”

“I did say normal.”

“It’s a ridiculous custom.”

“Nonsense. You must’ve had birthday parties when you were a boy.”

*shudders* “Every year. Ghastly affairs. Loud screaming children. Dry, sickly sweet cake and melted ice cream. Garish decorations. Silly party hats. Clowns. . .”

“Don’t tell me you’re one of those people with a fear of clowns?”

“No, I just loathe them. Finally put a stop to the horrific events when I was eight.”

“Huh. I quite liked my birthday parties.”

“You would.”

“Because I’m dull, boring, pedestrian. . .”

*grins* “Delightfully so.”

“You really surprise me, Sherlock. I would think you‘d appreciate having a day set aside every year where people are encouraged to commemorate your greatness.”

“Greatness is earned, John. It is not achieved simply because you were ejected from someone‘s birth canal.”

“And all this time I thought you had sprung fully formed from a pod.”

“Pod?”

“ ‘Invasion of the Body. . .’ you know, forget it. I don‘t even know why I try anymore.”

“Finally--something we both agree on.”

*sigh* “You’re hopeless, Sherlock.”

“I just fail to understand why it matters. It’s a day, just like the other 364. What makes January 6th so special?”

“Because it’s the day you were born. . .”

“Along with millions of other people.”

“Well, I don’t know about any of them. I do know you, however, and I want to honor the day you came into the world. And if you say ‘why’ again, I’ll hit you with that squirrel you’re storing in the freezer.”

“That doesn’t sound very festive.”

“Aren’t you even going to read the card?”

“What’s the point? It’s either one of those so-called humourous things about getting another year older and unable to perform to your sexual peak any longer. Or it’s some smarmy rhyming verse that aims to be loving and sentimental but comes off as cloy and disingenuous. At least it doesn’t appear to be one of those new atrocities that play lame, tinny music every time you. . .”

*losing patience, shouts* “Read the damn card, Sherlock!” 

“Fine.” *As he opens the card, a slim envelope slips out. The card itself is blank, except for a handwritten ‘Happy Birthday’ * “John. . .”

“Don’t say another word until you open it and see what’s inside first.”

*Sherlock opens the envelope and pulls out two concert tickets* “The Academy of St. Martin in the Fields.”

“They’re doing a tribute to Sir Edward Elgar. I. . .I thought you’d like to go.”

“But you hate the symphony.”

“I don’t HATE it.”

“You fell asleep last time.”

*shrugs, embarrassed* “It was soothing. And besides, the tickets aren’t for me, they’re for you. For your birthday.”

“But there are two. That implies I’m to take someone. And you don’t like the symphony.”

*exasperated* “It doesn’t matter if I like it. They’re for YOU. Because YOU like it. And I got two tickets because. . .well, going out is more fun with two people.”

“I know that. But you. . .“

“It doesn’t have to be me, Sherlock. You can take anyone. Go with Lestrade. You two get along well.”

“He’s more classic rock than classical music.”

“Then take Mrs. Hudson. I’m sure she’d enjoy it. Or Molly. You owe her for all the body parts she supplies you with. Or even Mycr. . .ah. . .maybe not.”

“But you purchased the tickets. Why would I go with any of those other people?”

“Just saying. They’re a gift. You can do what you wish with them. I didn’t realize it would be such a chore to give someone a bloody birthday present.”

“But. . .”

*frustrated sigh* “But what, Sherlock? If you don’t want the tickets, I can return them and get you something else.”

*agitated* “I do. Want them. Thank you. . .it‘s just. . . but I didn’t get you anything.”

“You don’t HAVE to get me anything. I know this is all new to you, Sherlock, but it’s YOUR birthday. The rule is you’re the only one who receives gifts.”

“No, I mean. . .I didn’t get you anything for YOUR birthday. Unless you count the sprained ankle, which I don’t.”

*puzzled furrow creases John’s brow* “The sprained. . .?”

“July 7th. The Dreybek case.”

“You knew. . .?” *Sherlock raises eyebrow* “Of course you knew.”

“As you made no mention of it, however, I didn’t think it meant anything to you. . .that you didn’t observe them. . .”

“Like you.”

*sheepish* “Yeah. But this. . .” *holds up the tickets* “You obviously do.”

“Well, you only get one a year. Should be special.”

“Front row balcony. These cost a fortune.”

“You’re worth it.”

“No one’s ever. . .” *mumbles* “I don’t deserve you, John Watson.”

*chuckles* “I’ve often thought the same about you.” *pulls Sherlock in for a deep, loving kiss* “Love you.”

*smile* “Me, too.”

“And I’ll have you know, I quite enjoyed my birthday last year.”

“You got hurt.”

“Not for the first time. And we did catch the bad guy, so it was all good.”

“You were on crutches for a fortnight.”

“And you took such good care of me. Let me have the sofa. Made me tea. Had Angelo deliver all my favourite meals. Didn’t leave any body parts where I could trip over them. Even picked up milk once in a while.”

“That was actually Mrs. Hudson.”

“I know, but at least you told her when we ran out. Baby steps.”

“She was going to the market anyway.”

“Then every night, you’d help me hobble to your bedroom, and ravish me to within an inch of my life.”

“To be fair, I probably would have done that, anyway.” *glances down at the tickets again* “You do know you’re the only one I want to go with.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. And I’ll try not to fall asleep this time.”

*playful twinkle in his pale grey eyes* “Will you ravish me after the concert?”

*laughs* “Try and stop me.”

*voice drops seductively* “What about right now?”

“Whatever you want.” *another passionate kiss* “After all, you ARE the birthday boy.”

*John drops to his knees in front of Sherlock. As zipper is pulled down, Sherlock sighs happily* “So much better than clowns. . .”

 

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I'm slowly reposting my old stories to this AO3 account. This one was first posted to my livejournal May, 2011.


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